


Shae D'el - Heart of the Rakshasha

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Jay & Pen encounter Cadre agents in a museum. All hell breaks loose, weirdness, violence, and doofiness follows.





	Shae D'el - Heart of the Rakshasha

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Shae D' el -- Heart of the Rakshasha by Drovar

Title: Shae D' el -- Heart of the Rakshasha  
Author: Drovar  
Email:   
Rating: R for some bad words and m/m sexy stuff  
Pairings: Spender/Pendrell (That's right, yet another Jay & Pen story)  
Date: 11/18/98  
Website: The Ferret Cage  
URL: http://www.ferret-cage.com/  
Summary: Jay & Pen encounter Cadre agents in a museum. All hell breaks loose, weirdness, violence, and doofiness follows.  
Category: Slash/Horror (A stand-alone Mythos AU story)  
Warnings: Ferret & Labmouse in some general naughtiness; also some violence and supernatural stuff. Oh and there's a monster or something too.  
Disclaimers: All things recognizable as TXF belong to CC, 1013 & FOX, all else belongs to me.  
Notes: This story takes place in some vague time between Armani and Acranon 1. The museum in the story, and the Heart of the Rakshasha are entirely fictive. At this point in the Storyarc Spender and Pendrell have been together for sometime. Mulder and Spender have reconciled, and now have a sometimes grudging, sometimes friendly, half-brother relationship. The consortium is gone, replaced by the even more evil cadre, Pendrell has some weird things going on in his head that he doesn't understand (See Acranon 1 & 2 for more on that). In addition, in this AU neither guy is dead, at least not yet.   
Special thanks to Shael for letting me borrow 'something' else.

* * *

Shae D' el -- Heart of the Rakshasha   
By Drovar

The black sedan snaked quietly through the dark city streets, the soft hum of its engine and the gritty scratch of tires on wet asphalt were the only sounds. The occupants sat wordlessly, focused and intent on the task ahead. The car crawled past the Natural History Museum, where banners proclaimed 'Kid's Science Week' in garish crayon script. It turned the corner, and came to a stop on a side street. 

With the quickness of practice, and the accuracy of calculation, the black-clad occupants emerged and silently disappeared behind the museum. The night's stillness was broken by the muffled crunch of metal against metal. There was a brief moment of dim light and the sound of a door closing, then the street returned to darkness

* * *

Jeffrey Spender leaned back against the museum wall, yawned again, and stretched for the third time in the last half-hour. He crossed his arms and watched Sean Pendrell make his seventh trip of the evening along the velvet rope barrier that separated him from the armored display case. Spender checked his watch, 9:20. The museum would be closing soon. He could hear the bored security guard sniffling and yawning from his desk just on the other side of the open archway. They were the only visitors in this gallery and had been for the last 45 minutes. 

Spender stepped up to the case where Pendrell was staring at a large sapphire. His shoes tapped loudly against the marble floor as he walked across the room. The stone was the size of a large hen's egg, a deep smoky blue, shot through with veins of deeper purple. The display lights gave the gem a brilliant luster that seemed to shift hypnotically as he watched. He knew that the patterns were an illusion caused by minute, unconscious, shifts in his perspective. Still it was an arresting, unsettling sight. There was a large book to the right of the gem. It was bound in tanned leather, and carried no title. A small placard identified it as 'Translated prayers, curses, and magicks'. 

He glanced at Pendrell. The red-haired agent was staring fixedly at the gem, as if by plain stubbornness he could divine its secrets. Spender grinned; a lot of hard times trailed behind them. Years of struggle, sorrow, and sometimes terror. Somehow special agent Sean Pendrell retained that same goofy, eager, earnestness he'd had when they first met. He was still the same charming 'doof', if less innocent and no longer naive.

Spender glanced back at the guard, still inattentive, slouching half out of sight. He turned to the side blocking the guard's possible view and stepped closer to the oblivious agent. He leaned forward bringing his lips close to the Pendrell's ear, and slid a hand up the back of his thigh, finally stopping to cup and squeeze a rounded cheek. 

They were still dressed in their FBI clothes, they'd worked late, tracking suspected cadre movements through the D.C. area. Pendrell had insisted, over Spender's protests, that they come straight here. In retrospect Spender appreciated the tactile opportunity the thin clingy material presented.

"Shall I wrap it up for you sir?" Spender asked, as he squeezed. He grinned again as Pendrell did a 'controlled startle'. His eyes went wide, his face a shifting mask of surprise, realization, and embarrassment. He flinched, and flushed a deep red, but didn't jump.

"Jay, what the hell are you doing?" Pendrell demanded softly, glancing past Spender at the guard's station.

"Don't worry Pen," Spender said as he slid his hand over the rounded flesh and deep into the warm crevice beside it. "What's the plaque say?"

A large burnished brass plate was mounted just below the display case. Pendrell placed his hand on one of the rope posts and leaned forward to read. Spender slid his hand down, searching for the sensitive spot he knew was there.

"Shae D' el" Pendrell read aloud, shifting again, and squirming under the questing touch. Spender nodded, probed further, and found his target. He could feel Pendrell's muscles clenching and moving, through the soft fabric.

"The Heart of the Rakshasha," Pendrell continued. He leaned further forward to read the smaller print beneath, spreading his legs slightly. Spender brought a finger directly onto Pendrell's cloth covered entrance and pushed. Pendrell gasped, and cleared his throat before continuing.

"Recovered from the ruins of a Moghul palace in Northern British India circa 1860's." Pendrell inhaled sharply before continuing. "The heart was said to have mystic powers and was greatly feared by the native population."

"Really?" Spender asked, leaning down, his question, more breathed than spoken, into Pendrell's ear. He felt his own warm breath wash back into his face as he spoke. His hand slid up the cotton covered flesh, traced along the waistband, and slid beneath, feeling warm skin encased in soft cloth. The cool museum room suddenly felt drawn-in, warm, and intimate. "What does it say about Rakshasha?" he continued. 

Pendrell looked sideways at the guard station, back at the display case and then up at Spender. He looked dazed. 

"What?"

Spender repeated the question as his questing fingers again found the warm entrance to Pendrell's body.

Pendrell swore softly as Spender's finger pressed against the tight muscle. He stole another glance at the archway before answering.

"Noth . mmm... it doesn't say anything, why?"

"Rakshasha . . . " Spender pressed again, harder this time. He could feel the tight muscle giving slightly. 

". were demons, shapeshifters, spawn of Ravana."

"I see, and the heart?" Pendrell's voice slid up an octave as Spender's finger penetrated. He was swearing almost silently when Spender answered.

"The heart would have been recovered from the body of the slain Rakshasha." Spender didn't bother to look back at the inattentive guard, and began to twist and slide his finger in and out. Pendrell swore again, louder.

"Interesting isn't it?" Spender asked, his voice bland, tightly controlled. 

"Fascinating" Pendrell gasped, and began to move his hips, just slightly, in time with the finger inside him. Spender ran his free hand up the front Pendrell's slacks feeling his rapidly growing hardness. He squeezed, and for a moment considered retreating to one of the many dim niches in the room to finish things properly.

Suddenly he heard the guard's chair push back, the wooden feet making a slick scraping sound across the marble floor. Spender jerked his hands away; leaving Pendrell awkwardly balanced against the post for a moment. Spender helped Pendrell to his feet, straightened his collar, and smiled. The poor man looked, stunned, lost, and entirely aroused. "Time to go Pen" he said, and turned toward the archway. 

"You are *so* dead," he heard Pendrell whisper behind him. Spender grinned and strode toward the stairway humming, his heels clicking on the cold stone. 

* * *

Albert Wilson watched the two men leave and started shuffling papers into his desk. The night shift always seemed to run so damn long. He needed a beer and some dinner, and if Angie was in a good mood tonight he might get a little something extra. The echoes of steps on the large spiral staircase faded as Wilson finished his nightly rituals.

He was closing his desk drawer, that ritual complete, when he heard a soft rumble and caught the faintest whiff of something that made him think of summer and storms. He quickly he ran down his shutdown list, mentally checking off his completed tasks. Angie hated storms, she'd lost a father and brother to a twister in the Texas panhandle and never felt safe during bad weather. He'd held her through many a summer night, whispering comfort until she slept. There was another rumble, low, distant, violent. He had best hurry.

Finally satisfied he took one last look around as the museum lights began to dim.

/Fuck all, there go the lights. /

Within moments the museum was dark, lit only by small strategically placed safety lights. The lights gave the museum a mysterious, almost foreboding quality, as the dim yellowish glow slipped into odd crevices and cast long, unfamiliar shadows across the floor. 

Wilson trotted to the head of the stairs. Looking down, he felt a quick thrill of vertigo. In the near darkness the stairway seemed to spiral downwards infinitely, loop after loop, passing through each museum floor and then on forever. 

He looked back to his station, and stopped. A blue glow suffused the 'Heart of India' display room. He could see the flare and mix of blue light and shadow against the far wall. Wilson hesitated as he heard another rumble. Angie was waiting, no doubt curled up in bed, with the lights on staring at the weather channel. Still the curator would have his balls in a vise tomorrow if something turned up wrong. 

He could smell the storm air, could actually hear the soft hiss of rain outside as he trotted through the archway and into the display room. He had just a moment to realize how very wrong he was, it wasn't raining; just a moment to realize that Angie would sit alone all night, waiting, calling the museum, frantic; just a moment to make his peace with God. He had less than a moment to scream before his blood was splattered in a high arc against the back wall. The blue light pulsed and swayed as a monstrous shadow slid along the blood splattered wall and through the archway.

* * *

Pendrell examined his reflection in the museum's glass door, as the lights dimmed. He expected the guard to be along at any time to usher them out and lock-up. The man looking back, through the dim light, was familiar and yet a stranger. There were lines at the corners of his eyes, lines he'd only noticed a few months ago, they were his father's lines. Small scars for such hard times, he realized, times that showed in the slight graying at his temples, the ache in Jay's hip when it was cold and of course the dreams. 

He had watched Spender move with a slight limp as he walked across the lobby to the men's room moments ago. That limp was courtesy of their initial contact with the Cadre in a small New England ghost town. They had been caught unaware and fully paid the price for their naivete. If the horror they confronted there couldn't cause a sane man nightmares then nothing would. 

Pendrell thought he had left those dreams behind long ago. They had waxed and waned and finally disappeared as his relationship with Mulder had risen, fallen, and then ended. Not more than a year ago, however, they had returned in full-force. The night sweats, the terribly lucid moments of paralysis, they had all returned. Then there were the waking visions of *her*. Over the years, since that first frightening vision in Mulder's apartment, he had come to trust the old woman's voice, though he had no certainty that she wasn't a figment of his own thoughts. 

Even as he examined his own face he could see her ancient features overlapping his own. Her eyes, those familiar, deep, black pools, replaced his own points of blue. Slowly he began to hear a sort of mental static building in his thoughts as the image took shape. Long white hair fell down past his shoulders, as his face became the strong, wrinkled visage of his daytime visions. Pendrell reached out bringing his fingertips up to touch the glass. The ancient woman raised her hand in mirror of his own. He felt an electric jolt race from his fingertips to his toes when their hands met, the mental static swelled higher.

Pendrell shivered. He realized the woman was speaking, her expression was strident, almost frightened. He leaned forward, straining to hear over the roar in his thoughts. For a moment, as he brought his face close to the glass, he could hear her ancient voice. 

"Salvation is in the heart," was all he could make out, repeated over and over. Suddenly her image began to shift and dissolve, even as her gestures became larger and more urgent. The mental static roared to a crescendo, and then in a thought splitting screech it was gone, taking the old woman's image with it as it faded. Pendrell let his hand fall to his side, he had missed something; he was sure of it, something important.

The touch of fingers on the skin of his back jolted him back to reality. Jay was behind him, his hand beneath Pendrell's dark bureau-standard shirt and jacket. His face was damp, his tightly curled hair in slight disarray. The rest of the familiar elegant package was in place, the broad grin, and the thin classic features, though they weren't as thin as they once were. The years had given Jay Spender a fuller, more pleasant, less angular look. He had aged well. Pendrell felt a small trill of desire course through his body as Spender's fingers trailed down his spine and settled on his waistband.

"You okay Pen?" Spender asked bringing his face close to Pendrell's. "You look like Skinner just turned down your 302 to Jamaica." 

"There's something wrong here, Jay," Pendrell said. He turned from the door, scanning the dimly lit lobby. "Something bad."

Spender's wide grin collapsed into a straight, thin line. Pendrell watched as a hard shell of seriousness fell over Spender's features. In a blink Jay Spender was gone replaced by someone harder, and deadlier. In a single motion Spender drew his gun from his holster and scanned the room, holding the gun ready. Pendrell heard the safety snap off.

"What did you see?" he asked. Pendrell hesitated. Through the years they had come to trust these 'hunches', right more often than they were wrong, and always right when they 'felt right'. This time he wasn't sure. Had the old woman really been here? Or was the vision an utter hallucination crafted by his own mind?

"I'm not sure," he replied "a warning maybe." He pressed his hand to his forehead and cursed under his breath. Reality, fantasy, madness, there were times he wasn't sure which was which. He felt anxious, faint tickles of fear skittering at the edge of his thoughts. 

"Cadre?" Spender asked.

Pendrell froze. Cadre, a single, simple word. Spender's voice was steady, calm, and full of loss and regret. Cassandra Spender was gone, dead and in the ground over five years now. Nevertheless, the loss was a wound so fresh it pulsed through Spender's life. The man who might or might not have been his father had died, along with the rest of the Consortium, not more than a year later. Pendrell pushed back the memories of that time and place; the half formed awareness of his role in creating those memories and focused on the gentle concerned face of his lover.

"I think so." Pendrell hesitated, again. He could feel *something* else. It wasn't clear or defined like the sharp edge of anxiety he felt when cadre mind-assassins were near. It was something else, something just as dark, but indistinct, blurred, like a shadow of real thought. 

"But that isn't all. There's something else going on. I know it, but I don't know what."

Spender studied him for a moment, as if weighing options, and probabilities, before making his choice. "Well, we can't stay here, we're too exposed. We need information and reinforcements. If there are Cadre are here, then it's for something important, we need to know what that is."

"Come on," he said as he pulled out his cellphone and began punching in numbers with his thumb, while moving toward the relative shelter of the visitor's information booth.

Pendrell swayed in place, as he watched Spender moving across the room. He felt an intense vertigo, as if he were trapped in a vortex, spinning and tossing in the heart of an ethereal storm. He had a momentary vision of a descending inverted funnel of dark, roiling clouds, falling, twisting, and covering the museum.

Spender's voice broke through the darkness of his thoughts. "Hello, hello?" His voice grew louder. "Mulder, can you hear me?" Pendrell glanced out the front doors into a wall of dark, boiling mist. "I think it's too late for that, Jay."

Spender swore and snapped his cellphone closed. "So what happens now?" 

Pendrell stared, unsure of how to reply. There was something absolutely vital happening here. It had to be more than chance that they were here in this place, at this crucial time. He had learned that despite all its apparent chaos, the universe simply didn't operate that way. Even the smallest things mattered, sometimes they mattered the most. He started to speak when Spender's eyes flew open wide. There was a wet, thudding noise behind him. Pendrell spun as Spender leaped off the visitor's desk.

A blue clad body, soaked in blood, lay at the base of the stairway. They approached cautiously, Spender, scanning the room, gun at ready, Pendrell looking up the stairway. It was the security guard from the India exhibit. He was dead, obviously and blatantly dead.

Pendrell kneeled down near the body, taking care to avoid the spreading pool of blood. Spender took up a position on a lower stair tread. His face was taut, strained, as he scanned up the stairwell, both hands on his gun.

Pendrell nearly gagged as he realized the gross nature of the man's injuries. Much of his left shoulder and throat were simply gone, splintered bone and dark twisted flesh jutted out from the gap. The right side of the man's rib cage was gone as well. However, there was something unusually regular about the damage there. He carefully turned the body, bringing the mutilated side up into plain view. He heard Spender gag when the body sloshed in the bloody puddle as he turned it, the smell was nearly overwhelming. It was a mixture of human waste, blood, and something gamy, like a large animal scent, that Pendrell couldn't begin to place.

The gash along the rib cage was serrated, and entirely too regular to be an accident. There was something vaguely, and unsettlingly familiar about it. Then in a nauseating rush of understanding, he knew what had happened. His own gorge rose in his throat.

"Jay," he said. His throat was tight, his voice thick and rough. "Look at this."

Spender hesitated, took another look up the staircase, and then knelt down. "Jesus, what happened to him?"

Pendrell ran a finger along the chest wound, taking care to stay just above the torn flesh. His hand moved in a long arc as he traced the edge. He'd seen something like this, somewhere. That thought nagged at him, he knew what this was. However, his normally quick mind felt sluggish and over-burdened, tired, and unwilling to focus with its usual clarity.

"It's a bite wound." Spender said. Pendrell looked up, his partner had gone several shades whiter, his perennially pale skin, almost chalky in the dim light.

"What the hell makes a bite wound two feet across Pen?"

I don't know." Pendrell replied. "The wound is serrated, cut rather than ripped. A big shark *might* do this kind of damage."

"Sorry Quincy, wrong answer," Spender answered. "I saw the result of a great white attack in Hawaii. It was a bloody God-awful mess but shark teeth are triangular. They're razor sharp alright, but the shape is all wrong, and these wounds are too big."

"Well Jungle Larry, I didn't think one of the shark exhibits had woken up hungry." Pendrell said with a sigh that whispered *duh* around the edges. "What do you think did it, and more importantly where is it?"

Spender shrugged with a forced grin that was more grimace than anything else. "Land shark? Velociraptor, maybe?"

Pendrell nearly lost his balance as he stood up abruptly. The room spun drastically. With a rush of vertigo and sound his vision collapsed to a small dark tunnel. He fully expected to topple over the body and land in the widening pool at his feet. Instead he felt strong, agile hands on him, a thin, strong arm at his waist and the warmth of a familiar body pressed against his own.

"This is no time for a swan dive Pen." He led Pendrell to the bottom riser of the stairway. Made certain that he wasn't going to swoon and turned back to guard duty. Pendrell sat down heavily, his face in his hands. He felt weak fatigued, mentally and physically.

"That thing, whatever did this, is still up there, somewhere. There may be cadre around." Spender paused to dial a number on his cellphone and then snapped it off in frustration. "And we still can't contact anyone outside." Pendrell nodded wearily, more convinced than ever that they were on to something major, maybe cataclysmic.

"I know where I've seen this now," Pendrell said, looking up. He couldn't believe what he was about to say, it was insane, but there simply was no other explanation that fit the evidence. "The Cretaceous exhibit, third floor, East Gallery. It's where they keep all the big showy pieces," he said. Spender shook his head in grim agreement, the exhibit was well known. "There's one display that caught my attention when I was here during the summer. A T-rex had taken a bite out of a Triceratops frill. That bite was bigger, but the look was the same."

Spender stared at him blankly for a moment, incredulity warring with astonishment in his expression. "You mean to tell me," he said finally, "that we are trapped in some God-awful, third-rate indy version of Jurassic Park?" Pendrell grinned up as his partner. It was too bad so few people got to see this side of Spender. Beneath that angry, annoying shell, he could be a charming goof. 

Pendrell stood, more slowly this time and found his stance and vision steady. "Maybe, maybe not, but we aren't getting any closer to an answer standing here, are we?" Pendrell drew his gun from its holster as he spoke. The weight was unfamiliar, and a little unsettling. He'd made the grade for marksmanship at the academy, but he was really as much a danger to himself as to his target when he drew his weapon. Pendrell motioned up the stairs as he spoke and took up a position behind Spender.

They moved slowly up the stairway. The dimly lit museum offered no clues, no sounds echoed through the wide-open stairwell. Pendrell could easily imagine that the place was deserted. The persistent tickle at the back of his thoughts told him otherwise. As they reached the first wide turn in the staircase Pendrell felt a sudden surge of panic.

"Jay." was all Pendrell managed to hiss before the room below was filled with black clad cadre assassins. The dark wave surged across the room, fanning out as they approached. Pendrell realized with a moment of hope that they were partly hidden by the bulk of the stairway. There was just a chance that they might slip away unnoticed. Pendrell felt Spender's hand pulling on him, urging him upward. He moved up the stairs as quietly as possible, as Spender slipped behind him. 

Pendrell glanced back down into the lobby. A single face looked up at his. For an instant he locked eyes with the solitary, bland face. He felt an electric charge burn through his thoughts. For a moment he could feel the other battering as his mind, a powerful surge of will and hate threatened to overwhelm him. For a moment he swayed silently gripping the rail as a wave of revulsion and nausea nearly overwhelmed him. 

Pendrell felt Spender's hands steadying him again. He grabbed at the firm body, feeling its muscle and bone, solid, real, a mortal foundation, in a spinning whirl of unreality. Pendrell fought down the nausea, focused his thoughts, his anger, his loss, and pushed. There was a moment of wavering when he could feel the other clawing at his thoughts, screaming. Then the other's presence slid away with a howl of frustration.

"Move, move, move," Spender shouted behind him. The Cadre mind-fuck was already shouting orders to the gunmen. Pendrell felt a moment of vertigo and stumbled forward as bullets filled the air around them. Spender had one hand on the rail, the other held his gun poked through the posts, firing rapidly. Pendrell could see his eyes flicking from point to point as he fired, trying to make his limited ammunition count.

"Jay, come on damn it, we can't stay here." Pendrell shouted.

Without a reply Spender lunged under the incoming gunfire, throwing himself against the risers and scuttling upwards. Pendrell turned and began to run up the stairs when he heard a wet thud and a muffled grunt of pain. He turned just in time to watch Spender roll over and slide down several steps, a sickening patch of dark fluid, tinged in red, blossoming on his hip.

Pendrell leaped forward, grabbing Spender under the arms, ignoring the continuing gunfire, and staggered backwards just as several cadre agents warily approached the bottom of the stairway. Pendrell dragged Spender up to the second floor and through the exhibits. The cadre wouldn't take long in coming after them and he had to get them to a safer spot. The unexpected, gunfire and corpse at the foot of the stairs had made the assassins wary and slow to react. They had an advantage; it wouldn't last forever. 

He felt Spender stir in his arms. He couldn't see much in the dim light, and could only pray that the bullet hadn't shattered his hip. 

"Lemme' go, Pen" Spender said, and started to stand.

"You're okay?" Pendrell asked, bewildered, as he helped him to his feet. He eyed the injured hip suspiciously. There was a ragged hole where the bullet had entered and a still slowly spreading bloodstain. "Let me take a look at that."

Spender didn't resist as Pendrell moved them behind a display case of archaic weapons, directly beneath one of the feeble lights, and carefully pulled his suit-pants down. Spender groaned through gritted teeth as Pendrell pulled the damaged slacks and boxers away from the wound.

"Sorry," Pendrell whispered as he pulled the clingy material away, completely revealing the area. There was a large, ugly, purple and yellow bruise on Spender's hip. A gash ran across the tightly muscled thigh, forming a livid red arc across the pale skin. Fortunately it seemed to have already nearly stopped oozing blood. However, there was no bullet wound and thankfully no shattered bone or major damage.

"How...?" He started to ask. Spender grinned down at his puzzled expression, then winced as Pendrell's investigation brushed a little too firmly against the bruise.

"Check my pocket."

Pendrell slipped his hand into the damaged pocket and felt something hard and metallic. A moment later he held up a gold cigarette lighter. It glinted softly in the dimness, one side had been ripped open deflecting the bullet.

"I'll be damned." Pendrell said as he turned the lighter over in his hand.

"Probably the only good thing the old smoking bastard ever did for me, for either of us, for that matter" Spender said, and began pulling up his suit-pants.

Pendrell helped him redress in silence. He slipped the lighter into Spender's jacket pocket without comment. There were some things that were simply too complex and conflicted for words to express. Spender's relationships with his deceased father and his half-brother Mulder, were high on that list.

"We need to find some medical supplies, dress that wound, and find out just what the hell is going on." Pendrell slid his arm around Spender's waist and helped him hobble further into the exhibit hall. His hip might not be broken, but it would be a while before he'd move smoothly again. In this situation that lack of mobility could be deadly.

"What's there to find out Pen?" Spender said as they searched down a long gallery filled with ancient weapons and armor. "There's a monster with a bite radius the size of a Buick somewhere above us and a Cadre mind-fuck, with a pack of hired goons somewhere below us. Were cut off from the outside world, and I took a bullet in my bad hip. Does that about sum it up?"

"Yeah," Pendrell said grinning, "another typical Friday night."

"Well I always heard you were a fun date, Pen."

Pendrell quietly smirked, pushed open a door marked 'employees only' and helped Spender through. The small room was an employee lounge indistinguishable from any of a thousand others. The acidic odor of coffee, left on the burner, came from a small card table on the opposite wall. A disreputable couch sat along one wall and a small closet stood partially open to the left. The same dim emergency light as the rest of the museum filled the room. He settled Spender onto the couch, noting the increased stiffness and the soft hiss of pain as he put his full weight on his thighs.

"Stay there and be quite," Pendrell said as he turned to search the room.

"Yes dear." Spender said from the couch, letting out a long, put upon sigh

Pendrell began rummaging through the small closet. With a yelp of triumph he pulled out a small penlight and flicked it on. The batteries were old, apparently and the light a bit dim, but it illuminated the room much better than the emergency lights. He swept the beam around and spotted a small First Aid kit on the wall between the couch and the door.

A quick pillage recovered a bottle of aspirin, gauze, bandages, and antiseptic. Over Spender's meager protests Pendrell quickly skinned his slacks and boxers off and began cleaning and bandaging the wound. Spender drew in a quick breath through narrowed teeth at the antiseptic sting. Pendrell handed him two aspirin and a cup of cold coffee. Spender eyed the cup doubtfully but took the pills and grimaced as he washed them down.

Pendrell finished his task and waited, with the door cracked open, searching the long gallery for any sign of an enemy, as Spender redressed. After a few moments of watching, Pendrell glanced back. Spender was sitting up on the couch alternately staring out the long, narrow window into the swirling darkness, and stabbing at the buttons of his cellphone. The telephone beeped as Spender cancelled the call. He stared out the window distractedly as if the mist would suddenly lift and the world would make sense again, and returned to dialing.

"Time to go Jay, it's not safe here, monsters above and below and I'm not in the mood to be the FBI filling in the middle."

Spender looked up, his distraction falling away in an instant. He snapped his cellphone off, and crossed the room in two stiff, awkward strides. Before Pendrell had a chance to do more than let the door fall closed Spender's lips were on his. Pendrell felt the familiar hands touching him in ways and in places that caused his blood to suddenly divert its course. 

Pendrell could taste the aspirin's chalkiness and the bitter acid lick of the coffee as their kiss deepened. Pendrell found his own hands seeking out places to touch and squeeze as their bodies melded in the near darkness. Just as Pendrell began to feel an insane need to carry the session over to the couch Spender broke the embrace and gave Pendrell one last lingering brush of lips before disentangling himself. Pendrell sagged against the wall, suddenly feeling eager, and seriously frustrated.

"What was that for?" he said in voice that was half moan, half plead.

"Who knows," Spender replied, pulling his gun and sliding out the door. "Maybe forever."

* * *

A monstrous shape moved through the darkness. Powerful muscle rippled beneath dark gray skin, cording and bunching in ways that revealed its enormous power and inhuman nature. The crest on its head, covered in dense leather-like hide, brushed the bottom of the archway as it stalked between galleries. There were others here. It knew that in the simple, primal way of its kind. There was fresh blood here, new flesh to be torn, new souls to be tasted. 

It passed beneath a second archway and stopped. Blood was close, not here but close. Blood and something else, something that rattled and buzzed in its head. A great clawed hand came up and swatted at the air in front of its face. The buzzing grew louder. A hand swept out, claws extended, raking across a display case scattering glass, and wood, scattering Celtic artifacts across the floor. The creature threw back its head and bellowed. The roar resounded through the museum, its rage and hatred filling all the nooks and hidden places. The buzzing stopped. The creature sniffed the cool still air as the echoes of its bellow finally faded. The blood was close. The creature began moving again, faster now, getting closer to the open stairwell with each step.

* * *

Far below the mentalist gasped and fell to the floor, his head in his hands, mewling softly, as the unearthly bellow echoed through the museum. The cadre agents still in the lobby exchanged uneasy glances, things were beginning to spiral very badly out of control.

* * *

Pendrell shuddered as the last of the echoes faded from the gallery. 

"What exactly, the hell, was that?" he whispered. 

"I don't know, but we're not hanging around here, to shake its hand, come on." 

Spender crept back the way they had come, moving quickly, even with his newly exaggerated limp, nearly silently, sliding through the alternating shadow and light. It was almost as if he were flickering in and out of existence, Pendrell realized, sometimes there, and solid, sometimes an ethereal creature of darkness. 

Pendrell pushed away the vision of Jay Spender, torn between light and darkness, padding along the long razor thin shadow-line between good and evil. Those shadow times were long gone. Whatever darkness had lurked in Jay Spender's heart had been burned away years ago. There was no room in their lives for weakness or deceit, not anymore, for any of them.

The incident at Portsmouth had been like this. A mindless dash through dark and light, not knowing which way to turn; terror on all sides, despair ahead and death close behind. It was a miracle any of them had made it out of there alive. As it was, Jay had never walked right again, and Scully . . . well Scully coped, mostly. 

Had it not been for Victor's guidance they would have all died there in those caves of madness. Pendrell could still remember the little man's utter joyousness when they finally escaped onto the beach. One by one they had fallen into exhaustion and sleep, safe in the bright light of day. Sometimes Pendrell wondered if it wouldn't have been better if they had never woken up.

Pendrell heard a low hiss in the dimness. "Pen, this way, we have to move." Pendrell shuffled forward, eyes darting, seeing enemies in every shadow. He drew his gun, leaving the safety on. Spender crouched near a stairwell door, and waved him over. As he settled down next to him Pendrell felt suddenly pricklish, like a cold draft had slid up his back, and was dancing on his nerves.

"This is a fire exit stairwell, it goes all the way to the top, I've seen it on the maps," Spender whispered.

Pendrell nodded, still feeling distracted by the prickly sensation on the back of his neck. Something was wrong, something close, but he couldn't place it, just like at Portsmouth.

"The way I see it," Spender continued. "We take these stairs up, we smash the heart, goodbye monster, goodbye mist, we call for reinforcements, and *then* we deal with the brain-fuck downstairs.

Spender pushed the door to the stairwell open and listened. Pendrell felt his heart thump in his chest, just once, solid, as the door opened. He listened intently, himself, as Spender looked into the stairwells dim reaches. Nothing, no sound, no activity save their own. Still he couldn't escape the nagging certainty that things were about to go very badly wrong.

Spender scuttled through the door in a crouch, grunting almost silently. He stopped at the rail, looked up and down the stairwell, still holding the door, and then stood. Pendrell watched with appreciation as his lover's body regained its familiar sleek lines, and casual stance. The years had softened Jeffrey Spender's personality, sharpened his mind and spirit, and done nothing to lessen his keen physical edge.

Spender slowly released the door into his hands and stood on the first upward step leaning back and searching the upward stairwell. After a moment he motioned Pendrell forward. Pendrell felt a rapidly growing apprehension as they climbed.

As far as he could tell the floors were lifeless and dark, lit only by the thin yellow emergency light. After several minutes of slow climbing Spender stopped and motioned him forward. Pendrell moved up and then hesitated. Some innate sense of self-preservation was screaming at him. As he moved forward again Pendrell caught the leading edge of a long, onrushing shadow through the fire door's small window.

With a yell of panic, Pendrell grabbed Spender and lunged. There was a startled squawk from the other agent as they tumbled down the stairs, and an enormous clang that reverberated throughout the stairwell as the fire door exploded off its hinges.

"Oh...my...God." Spender was staring at the doorway. Pendrell followed his gaze. There was a large humanoid creature sprawled over the crumpled door, wrapped in the remains of the rail. Its cold gaze fixed on them, and its maw, lined with dagger sized teeth, snapped and opened, as it struggled to untangle itself from the wreckage.

The two men were up and pelting down the stairs in an instant. Pendrell glanced back as they ran, half-tumbling, down. The creature bellowed, once. There was a movement in the shadows above as they rounded the corner. With another ear-splitting bellow the creature landed on the steps just above them.

Pendrell felt a sudden whiff of air and a swoosh as the creature's huge claw sailed just past his ear and embedded itself in the cinder block. Chunks of broken cinder block and gravelly sand rained down on them. Pendrell felt a thin trail of blood trickle down his back.

"Out the door, out, out" he yelled as they reached the next landing. The stairwell was a death trap. They would be dead in seconds if they stayed. Without hesitation Spender slammed against the door, springing it open, and rolled through. Pendrell followed, dodging through the door, and kicking it closed as he felt, and heard, the creature's heavy pounce on the landing directly behind him.

Pendrell rolled to a stop on top of Spender and directly into the multiple gun-sights of a cadre goon squad. There was only a split-second to recognize the situation when the sense of overwhelming panic rushed over him again. He looked up into the lead gunman's feral grin, his eyes narrowed and cold. 

An enormous crash against the firedoor drew the gunmen's attention. Pendrell rolled to his left, as Spender crawled after him. Pendrell heard a single bullet whiz past. There was a second louder crash. Pendrell glanced back in time to see the firedoor, bent, and spinning, plow into the cadre agents. They crumpled, as a group, leaving two men standing to face the monster charging out of the stairwell. Then the screaming began.

There were a few panicked and ineffectual shots, as the creature closed. Pendrell turned as he and Spender reached the stairwell. The wails of the dead men had ended. Pendrell nearly retched and stumbled as he saw the glint of flashing teeth amidst torn flesh. The pale marble was washed with bright red blood for several yards.

Pendrell felt a sharp tug on his arm and a whispered. "There's nothing we can do right now Pen, we have to get away, and regroup. We stay we're as dead as they are."

Pendrell nodded once, feeling half dead, and followed Spender down the stairs.

* * *

"Okay," Spender said as he stepped further into the dark storage-closet they were in, "we know it seems to be immune to gun fire." He flipped the small penlight on and surveyed the storage closet. "It's not completely stupid, strong as hell, and faster than it is strong." He turned back to Pendrell who was huddled near the door, atop a crate of liquid soap, his chin on his knees. Even in the dim glow the penlight provided Spender could see Pendrell's face was drawn and pale, his hands moving restlessly up and down his legs.

Spender hesitated. Pendrell had freaked pretty badly after the slaughter upstairs. It wasn't the first time he had seen mass death, Spender knew. It wouldn't have been the first time for any of them. However, Pendrell seemed to take it worse than the others. Even Mulder the morose, handled death better than Pendrell.

Spender moved back to stand in front of Pendrell, flipped the penlight off, and slipped it into a pocket. He placed his hands on Pendrell's shoulders and slid them gently into his still thick red hair. Spender loved the feel of Pendrell's soft hair in his hands, long thick strands, heavier than hair had any right to be. It felt wonderfully erotic as it slid through his fingers, so unlike his own dark, tight curls.

"Jay," Pendrell muttered from his chin-on-knees position, "what the hell are you doing?"

Spender moved in closer bringing his chest close to Pendrell's head. He began to gently stroke the back of Pendrell's neck and hum. Pendrell brushed the hand away. "I'm not in the mood."

Spender jerked away. He felt a sudden spike of anger, an abrupt undoing of carefully cultivated civility. His hands stopped hovering in the darkness, balled into angry fists at his sides. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A second breath, so deep his chest hurt, allowed him to unclench his hands, and place them on Pendrell's shoulders.

"Stand up," Spender said. He moved in closer until his own feet bumped against the crate. 

"What?"

"You heard me, on your feet."

He heard Pendrell slide off the crate with a disgusted sigh. Spender felt his body, still sturdy, but now layered with muscle and scars, brush against him as he stood. Pendrell still smelled the same, Spender realized, the same, benign drug-store scent. He carried that same sweet gentle aroma of their first meeting in the lab so many years and trials ago. Spender felt an abrupt tightening in his throat, as he realized just how Pendrell smelled. There was a sudden rush of sad regret, so strong his knees threatened to buckle. Pendrell smelled of safety, and home.

"Now what?" Pendrell asked flatly. Spender could feel tightness in the shoulders beneath his hands. The man was in full fight or flight mode. In some cases that was fine, but in this one, making a choice on instinct alone would get them both killed. They had been extremely lucky thus far, escaping death by the smallest of margins. They wouldn't outfight this thing, the massacre of the highly trained and lethal cadre agents had made that clear. This creature, this monster, this thing, whatever God-smited hole it had crawled out of, would have to be out thought. There were no other choices.

Silently Spender slid one hand down Pendrell's back, stepped between his feet, and pulled him close.

"We will survive this," Spender said as his other hand began to stroke the back of Pendrell's neck again. Spender felt Pendrell shudder and push against his chest, trying half-heartedly to pull away.

"Just like Portsmouth, just like London, just like Antarctica, we will survive this, we'll find a way, we always do." He felt Pendrell shove against him, hard. He rocked back on his heels for just a second before pulling himself tight against Pendrell's solid body again..

"Just like always, Pen," Spender said. He buried is face in Pendrell's neck, kissing and nuzzling along his stubble covered jaw and whispering in his ear.

"We find a way, we win, like always, I promise that."

He felt Pendrell shudder again, his jerking fading to silent shivers that finally ended when Pendrell seemed to simply melt into his arms. Spender felt Pendrell fold in against him, their bodies closing, touching, conforming to each other like hands in comfortable, reliable gloves, soft, familiar and safe. Spender felt Pendrell's arms finally fall into their familiar place on his hips. It was a touch full of familiar feelings, the soft assurance that said everything was fine in Sean Pendrell's head.

Spender ran his hands over Pendrell's back, caressed the broad shoulders, and felt the tight muscles relax. He let his hands settle just below the belt-line and began to rock back and forth and hum a wordless tune. There were times when just the touch of Pendrell's flesh on his own could send lightning shots of lust straight through his body. Here and now was sadly neither the time nor the place for fun.

Spender continued to sway and hum, his voice low. Silently he began first to kiss Pendrell just below his ear. Soon he was kissing and humming, kissing and singing, and kissing. He smiled to himself when he heard Pendrell snort at his choice of songs and pull him close.

". do birds suddenly appear?" Spender sang his voice barely above a whisper. "Every time you are near?"

"Who would have thought," Pendrell said in a smiling whisper.

"Just like me..." Spender continued.

"That deep in that hard, angry, shell of a man.."

"They long to be.."

"Beats the heart of a 12 year old girl."

"Close to you...."

Their nearly silent laughter dissolved into a long lingering kiss.

* * *

The blood was closer. The need was stronger. Giant claws clenched and unfurled as the creature sniffed the air. Slowly it moved around the stairwell, it's great snout huffing and dragging at the air.

Kicking its way through the torn and dismembered corpses that littered the gallery, the creature came to the shattered doorway that once held the steel firedoor. It hesitated, sniffing the stairwell air, then slid ponderously into the gloom.

* * *

Spender searched the room, panning the small penlight over its contents as Pendrell adjusted his clothing. He finally settled on the box of liquid soap Pendrell was standing beside. He grinned to himself as a plan, and perhaps some hope, formed in his mind.

* * *

Sliding carefully through the ether, the cadre trained mind-assassin, hunted. He avoided the thundering, powerful mind of the beast and the surprisingly strong, and somehow familiar, mind of the red-haired FBI Agent. He settled instead on the other man, quick witted, strong willed, but without serious defenses.

A roar of sounds, images, impressions, and emotions rushed past as he slid down into the core of the man's thoughts. Here deeper in his mind, anticipation, fear and excitement with an undercurrent of arousal formed an emotional tumult surrounding his senses. With a quick push, that caused the agent's thoughts to falter and recoil, the assassin slid through to the inner perceptual part of the mind.

Within moments he was oriented to his host's perceptions and was hearing and seeing all that the agent did. With little effort he locked onto the man's stream of consciousness. Suddenly the world shifted, his own body was gone, his own thoughts muted and distant. 

Quick probes into the agent's mind located the centers for motor control. He didn't have control over the man, his will and awareness was too strong for that. However, simple blocks, set in crucial pathways at just the right moment would freeze the man in his tracks. Then he would be free to deal with the other one. An expectant hunger rolled through his thoughts as he considered how to best torture the other man before destroying his mind.

Far below, in a deeply hidden niche, a figure stood in the darkness and began to move. The man moved stiffly, as if under control by a distant puppeteer. Finally he came to the bottom of the stairway and began to climb. The mind called, the body obeyed.

* * *

Pendrell hefted the last gallon bottle of soap, unscrewed the cap, and dumped the slick viscous fluid onto the marble floor.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, turning his head away from the strong, sweet-smelling fumes. Spender had stopped pouring and was pinching the bridge of his nose, and wobbling slightly.

"Jay, are you alright?" It wasn't like him to get a headache, they were both in pretty good health and only beginning to feel the minor aches and pains that came with the pile up of years. However, in Spender's case it was more the accumulation of injuries rather than age that sometimes wore him down.

Spender hesitated for a moment, rubbing his fingers across the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I'm fine, guess it's just the stress. Never would have thought something as simple as a two-ton hell-beast with teeth the size of steak knives and an appetite for human flesh would have bothered me. I guess I'm just getting old."

Pendrell grinned as the two men sloshed the last of the slick pink liquid onto the floor. They added water from the sink in the janitor's closet and mixed it into the soap. In minutes the entire floor from the gallery to the edge of the stairway was a frothy white and pink puddle. A thin strip of dry floor ran between the puddle and the rail. It was just wide enough for a man to run along, but not enough to stop what they had in mind. Huge curtains hung from long crossbeams, falling far down into the central open stairwell. They looked sturdy but nothing that would hold this particular monster.

"What makes you think it'll even come here?" Pendrell asked. He turned toward the fire door at the end of the long gallery. All was dark and quiet, for now. He moved to the rail, standing on the dry strip between the soap and the edge. It was a precarious spot and a long way down.

"Did you see the nose on that thing?" Spender asked. He moved to the rail and looked down. "It could track Frohike two miles upwind." Spender turned and winked, "but then, who couldn't? It'll be here."

As if in answer the emergency firedoor at the end of the long gallery slammed open. The creature burst into the gallery, already moving quickly, and accelerating. Pendrell licked his lips and reached for Spender's hand as the creature closed.

They waited unmoving but ready as the creature exited the gallery. Pendrell tensed and felt Spender's hand in his, tighten for just a moment. The creature surged into and through the puddle. Pendrell heard Spender yell.

"Now."

The creature, as huge as it was, was nimble on its feet. For a moment Pendrell thought it would remain in control. Halfway across the pool it planted its feet, twitched and toppled over backwards. The Museum floor shook as the creature landed and began to spin across the floor.

Pendrell dodged to the right as a wave of wet sweet soap flowed over him. He rolled and turned in time to see Spender stuck in place, frozen, his face contorted in effort and anger, his body making small jerking movements, as the creature bore down on him. At the last possible moment Spender seemed to snap out of his catatonia and lunged to the side. He almost made it.

Spender leaped, nearly clearing the frothy pungent lake. He landed with a wet splat; his feet just within the creature's reach. There was a brittle splintering sound as the creature broke through the railing and slid out into the empty air. Spender flailed at the dry floor just beyond his reach.

As the creature began to fall one long arm slapped at the edge of the floor, rending the marble with its great claws. One slender talon dug into Spender's leg as it flailed. Spender screamed and rolled as the talon pierced his leg just above the ankle. He twisted desperately and reached out his hands toward Pendrell.

Pendrell leaped, his hands brushing Spender's for an instant before the other man was dragged across the floor by the falling creature. Pendrell watched in horror as Spender's ashen face, contorted in pain, locked eyes with his and then was gone.

"Jay, oh God. Jay," Pendrell yelled as he slid through the pink goo, sending another wave of it cascading over the edge. He grabbed the broken balustrade, teetering on the precipice; Pendrell jammed one foot against the other side of the gap and looked down. Far below, almost obscured in the darkness, he could see the creature lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the spiral stairs. There was no sign of Spender. 

Fighting down a wave of vertigo Pendrell leaned over the edge. There was a flash of cloth and motion just below, dark blue cloth, FBI issue, Spender. His head was clasped in the hands of the cadre mind-assassin, his eyes open wide, staring, his face blank unaware. Pendrell got to his feet, steadying himself against the broken rail, his feet on the edge of the drop-off. If he was right, Spender had only seconds before the mind-fucker ripped his consciousness from his brain, rendering him a mindless zombie, a total blank slate. They'd seen it often enough; it was the total and complete death of personality. Taking either stairwell would take far too long. He grabbed the heavy curtain hanging from the ceiling and leapt out into space. There was a moment of blind panic as he felt free-fall take hold, then he was swinging back. 

Spender's body had gone completely slack, losing even its normal human tension. There was no way to draw his gun in this position so he'd have to improvise. He lifted his feet as he swept toward the cadre assassin, his speed building. He'd only get one shot at this.

He bellowed a wild inarticulate challenge as he launched himself over the railing. The assassin looked up; his expression of triumph shattering just before Pendrell's size 11's slammed into his face. The mind-fuck cantered wildly backwards, finally falling into a crumpled, moaning pile. Pendrell was on his feet and at Spender's side before the cadre assassin hit the floor.

Spender's eyes were vacant, hollow. The spark once so brilliantly evident was gone. Spender was dead. His body still lived, the gash on his leg where the monster's claw had stabbed so cruelly, still bled copiously, staining the white marble floor. The soul, the spirit, all that made the man was gone.

Pendrell spun, the cadre assassin was wobbling to his knees. His left eye was swollen shut and a bright-red imprint of Pendrell's shoe ran across his right cheek. Rage, pure, clean, and untempered by caution, welled up inside him. 

He fell on the man with a howl. The first punch seemed to forestall any real resistance. The mind-fuck cried and moaned at first, then slipped into wretched silence beneath Pendrell's failing fists and feet.

Blood, there was blood on his hands. Pendrell stopped. The body beneath him was silent and unmoving. How long had he stood there wailing out his misery on the man? The assassin's face was a mess of pulped and beaten flesh. Pendrell recoiled, wiping his bloody fists on his pants as he stepped back. He nearly tripped when the back of his feet hit Spender's body.

Spender, Jay Spender, not dead, but no longer living. Pendrell knelt and cradled the limp body in his arms. There was no response as he ran his hand along the thin angular jaw. He felt new tears, fresh hot tears of sorrow, falling. He tried to whisper a goodbye, a prayer, anything. All he could manage was a muted, despairing moan. He began to stroke Spender's hair, feeling the soft, tight curls sliding through his hands. So he sat, holding his dead lover, moaning his sorrow.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he first felt the twinge in his thoughts. 

"Jay?"

Pendrell looked up, a shout of hope dying in his throat. The cadre assassin was on his feet, staring at him with one barely open eye. The attack hit him like a slamming fist of hate. Pendrell faltered, his thoughts already nearly overwhelmed with grief. He felt himself drowning in a flood of the cadre's power. He gasped as he felt a stab into his mind. With a shuddering cry he staggered to his feet and away from Spender's body.

A second bolt of sliced through his brain. Pendrell screamed in agony and stumbled forward. He drove himself blinding into the mind-assassin, forcing the slight man across the gallery and to the edge of the stairwell. The railing swayed beneath their weight. Pendrell felt a sickening, falling motion as the rail bent, then broke. He grabbed frantically at the remaining balustrades as they fell. His right hand closed around something solid, he grabbed, held, and lurched to a painful, arm wrenching halt.

Pendrell looked down and met the cadre's one good eye looking up. The assassin was dangling from Pendrell's legs, his hands digging and clawing, trying to reach and climb up his body. Far below the creature, apparently fully recovered, was watching them. It jittered from side to side as it watched, its great maw opening and flashing its enormous teeth.

The assassin moved and Pendrell shuddered. Another lancing bolt of pain speared through his mind, he groaned and felt his grip weaken. He had seconds before his grip failed completely.

The cadre mind-fuck moved again and Pendrell felt the grip on his legs loosen. He waited, hanging limp, as the cadre pulled himself upward again. Pendrell waited till the goon was in mid grab, and kicked upward.

His knee crashed in to the villain's chin, rocking his head back and splaying blood across Pendrell's clothes. For a moment the bastard was falling. Pendrell screamed in anger, frustration, and pain when the cadre grabbed his feet, stopping the fall. Pain lanced up from his hip, it felt like his leg was half out of its socket.

"You fucking bastard," Pendrell hissed through clenched teeth.. "God damn brain-fucking assassin." Pendrell kicked his right leg, pulling it loose from the assassin's grip. "Fucking mind-killers." Pendrell kicked, even as the assassin tried to block with one flailing hand. His foot smashed into the man's face, the hold on his legs loosened.

"Die, damn you die." He kicked again, and again, as if each angry blow were a payment in kind for all the misery he and the world had been through. Suddenly he was lighter. He opened his, eyes. When had he closed them? He blinked away his tears and closed them again as he caught a glimpse of the creature and what was left of the body.

He could let go now, he realized. A couple seconds of free-fall and it would all be over. No more death, no more fear, no more mourning for lost loved-ones. So simple, so easy just to end it all. He felt his grip slacken as over strained muscles began to fail, and didn't really care.

His hand slipped. in one sad moment he felt gravity take hold, felt the beginning of the long fall, felt the start of the end. He was falling. Then he stopped. Suddenly he was dangling loose in space, hanging suspended. Was he already dead?

He looked up, dazed and uncertain for the source of his restraint. He looked directly into Spender's pale, tightly drawn face. He had Pendrell by the wrist, his hands clenched, the muscles in his forearms straining. Pendrell realized that he hadn't even felt the pressure on his arm till then.

"Pen, come on, snap out of it. You have to help me here." Spender slid forward slightly. "Sean Brian Pendrell, you fall from here and were both dead, 'cause I'm chasing you all the way down."

Pendrell felt a surge in his gut. Jay Spender was alive, alive and whole, and slowly loosing his grip. Pendrell grabbed with his free hand clamping onto Spender's arm. They struggled, slowly gaining inches, until Pendrell was able to grab a broken balustrade and pull himself to safety.

The two men collapsed together in a fatigued, wounded heap. Everything hurt. Pendrell managed to pull himself upright and look into Spender's face. He was smiling that vague half-smile that Pendrell was so familiar with, the one that so easily degenerated into a leer. If that nuance was intact, just maybe the rest was also.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Spender looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and confusion, the grin spreading into a real smile.

"What is your name?" Pendrell demanded again.

"Jeffrey Michael Spender," Same as it was yesterday why?"

"Where do you work?"

"Same place you do Mr. Sean Brian Pendrell. FBI, Washington D.C. office, X-files division."

"Who's your boss?" Pendrell began to feel a little more relaxed.

Spender sighed and pulled himself up on his elbows. "Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner, ball-breaking ex-marine. We've worked on the X-files for two years. We first 'did it' in your lab three years ago. Fox Mulder is my grumpy, slightly paranoid half-brother, our father died along with the rest of the consortium eighteen months ago. Dana Scully is the previous object of your misbegotten affections. Mulder and Scully *still* haven't done it, as far as I know. Your favorite color is blue, you have a passion for sappy old movies, and your mother 'approves' of me."

Spender began to untangle himself. "Oh, and Gore is still the President, last I checked, and the Yankees won the World Series, again. How's that?"

Pendrell grinned, slid down, and wrapped Spender up in a long tight embrace. He held on, barely daring to breathe, less this turn out to be yet another brain-addled illusion, until Spender began to push him away gently.

"What happened?" Pendrell asked. Spender had been 'gone' his personality ripped away. There was no way, he couldn't be okay, not just like that.

"Dunno," Spender answered. He lifted his head and stared off into the dimness. "First, I couldn't move. I was paralyzed, something in my brain just switched off." He paused. "And then later, it was like." He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "It was like I was dreaming, I needed to go somewhere, but couldn't go, no matter how hard I tried." He dropped his head and continued softly. "Finally I heard your voice off in the distance. I followed it, got close, and felt this kind of 'yank'. I woke up to find you dangling by your fingernails."

Pendrell nodded in silence there was no time and little purpose to investigate this right now. He quickly tended to Spender's wound and helped him to his feet. The injury appeared serious, but the talon had sunk into muscle and thankfully hadn't severed any major blood vessels.

"We've got to get moving," Spender said, his voice a little unsteady. "Tall, dark and gruesome isn't going to wait around forever. I think we've got one more shot at this if were going to get out of here alive."

"You've got a plan?" Pendrell asked.

"I think we need to go back to where all this started." Spender said. He took a quick look for pursuit and began moving down the gallery toward the fire door on this level. Pendrell fell into place behind. They were both limping. Spender was trailing spots of blood from the wounds on both legs. If they didn't finish this soon there wouldn't be enough left to be worth saving.

Spender talked softly as they walked. "I think this entire thing started right after we saw the heart. I think that's the source. The two connected somehow. That wall of mist outside too. I imagine it's keeping the beast trapped here, at least for now.

Pendrell stooped, he suddenly felt like idiot. "Salvation is in the heart," he said, more loudly than he intended.

Spender winced as the sound of Pendrell's voice carried out into the gallery and beyond. "Before you send out invitations to that thing out there, do you mind explaining?"

Pendrell whispered apologies as he knelt close to Spender, keeping his voice low this time. "It's what the old woman in the vision told me. 'Salvation is in the heart'. He paused, rubbing his temples. "We could have both been killed and I had the answer all along."

Spender grinned, his teeth gleaming dully in the dim light. "Don't worry about it Pen," he said. "Just think about the report this is will make. Mulder's going to be pissed that we didn't bring the thng back in a cage."

The sound of a leathery scrape on marble shook the men into abrupt silence. Spender motioned Pendrell toward the door. They moved silently down the gallery and through the doorway. Pendrell glanced back through the door's small window and caught a glimpse of a large shape moving slowly down the gallery. He silently urged Spender forward and the two moved as quickly as possible up through the dim light.

* * *

The 'Heart of India' showroom was in a shambles. Everything save the heart itself and the book had been destroyed, overturned, or ripped apart. The heart, now glowing from some weird internal energy, sat in the shattered remains of its case, apparently no worse for recent events. They approached warily. The heart seemed not to react to their presence in any way. Spender picked up the book slowly, and brought it across the room, directly into the dim beam of the emergency light.

The ancient pages, thick with scrawled translations were hard to read in the best light and completely impossible in this yellow twilight. After a few frustrated moments Spender retrieved the feeble penlight, clicked it on, and began leafing through the thick book.

Pendrell stepped up to the archway and peered out into the gloom. He thought several times that he had seen or heard the sounds of movement around and behind them as they moved up the stairwell, stopping, listening, and hardly breathing. Starting at even the smallest sound in the near darkness, Pendrell finally began to understand claustrophobia. He'd sworn the walls were closing in as they moved tentatively from floor to floor. He'd been nearly exhausted when they finally reached the top. Some many stairs were a challenge at the best of times, injured, scared shitless, half psychotic, it was infinitely worse.

"I think I've got something," Spender said, pulling Pendrell out of his solemn reverie.

"What'd you find?"

"Most of these pages are just garbled hoodoo-voodoo crap. I can't make anything out of what the original translator wrote. But near the end are a few pages translated by someone else, these pages are newer. It's still hoodoo but at least it makes some sense."

"So how do we stop it?" Pendrell asked. He felt itchy and depressed, like he was going to jump right out of his own skin. "How do we kill it?" He hadn't felt this rattled since that last night in Portsmouth or during those still unclear events in London. "Can we kill it?"

Spender looked up for a moment at Pendrell's torrent of questions. "Well," he said carefully, "the heart didn't create the creature, I don't think." Spender turned his attention back the thin sheets of text. With his face down, illuminated from below by the relative brightness of the penlight, Pendrell realized suddenly how young he looked. The light wiped out the creases and edges of times, returning his face to the fresh young, eager agent Pendrell had first met in the lab all those years ago. He felt a surge of affection. They had been through so much and yet they had remained unchanged by outside events. Their relationship had grown and prospered during some very hard times. Now was not the time to get brittle and defeatist. If they were going to win, going to survive, they had to be sharp.

"It looks like the heart is a key to opening a gate," Spender said as he looked up.

"A gate? To where?"

"It isn't completely clear, it speaks about an 'outside' or 'those that wait, outside'. Honestly, that's the best sense I can make out of it."

Pendrell's thoughts went back to a surreal night spent with Jay in Mulder's apartment years ago. He'd first learned about 'those that wait outside, gnawing at the root of the world' that night, in a vision. He felt dread welling up inside him. Dealing with 'them' always seemed to result in absolute tragedy.

"So we smash the gem, the gate closes, bye-bye bad guy?" Pendrell asked hopefully.

Spender sighed, and returned his attention to the old and brittle pages. "It's not that easy," he said.

"Of course not."

"Destroying the heart probably just traps the creature here. In addition, doing so might drop the mist wall releasing it into the world. We can't take that chance, we deal with it here and now," Spender paused, looking up. The last part, 'or we die trying' remained unspoken.

Pendrell nodded once, his face set with grim determination. They couldn't let this thing out to cause mayhem in the world. Who knew what capabilities it might have? Once loose it might even reproduce somehow. It simply wasn't an option.

"Okay," Pendrell said, returning to his watch post at the archway, "What do we do?"

"According to this we have to invoke the name of the gatekeeper in the presence of the heart and the creature." He paused.

Pendrell turned back. Spender was still studying the pages intently, the penlight clenched in his teeth, shuffling the papers back and forth beneath its beam. Pendrell quickly, though barely, suppressed a smutty phallic comment.

"I here a 'but' in there, don't I?"

Spender looked up, the penlight still in his teeth. The beam swept up Pendrell's body and into his face. He winced and covered his eyes. After so much dim lighting, even the feeble penlight stung.

"Sorry, Pen," Spender said, after snapping the light off. "Yeah there's a big but." He snapped the light back on and directed it at the pages. "It says here that the gatekeeper exacts a price for its service." Spender shuffled the papers back into the book and closed it. "The translation isn't completely clear." Spender stood, hopping a bit on his injured leg. "It appears that the gatekeeper, whoever or whatever that might be, claims the life of the person who invokes the ritual."

"I'll do it." Pendrell said flatly. He hadn't even considered the other option. He'd made the choice before Spender had even completed the sentence. Somehow he knew what the price for this fiasco would be all along. This was Sean Pendrell's last and greatest stand."

"Are you crazy?" Spender hissed. "Did you hear what I said, you could die."

"And what's the alternative, you die?" He stepped across the room to where Spender stood bathed in the glow of the light in his hand. He pulled Spender close running his fingers through the fine hairs on the back of his head. "How is that better?"

"But you've never done this." Spender protested. Pendrell felt Spender's arms wrap around him, returning the embrace with force.

"Last time I looked Mister I didn't see summoning ancient other-dimensional demigods on your resume."

"You've looked at my resume?"

"Of course, I had you scoped out from head-to-toe the first day. That 'oh-so-serious' scowl on your picture was just too cute."

"Damn, you had me made the first day and I never knew, and here I thought *you* were the naive one."

Pendrell chuckled into his ear and pulled out of the embrace enough to look into his eyes.. "It only makes sense doesn't it? I'm the visionary, the half-mad genius in touch with the 'other' world. If anyone has an aptitude for this, it's me." 

Pendrell felt Spender sag in defeat.

"Shh. it's okay." Pendrell whispered to him as he pulled Spender close and tight. "If this is the end for you and me, the real and final true end, then I can only say that it's been one hell of a ride, and I'll see you on the other side."

"No," Spender said, "You don't leave me this way. We still have things to do and places to go. Hell If I come back without you Mulder'll kick my ass. again.

Pendrell chuckled and released him. "So what do we do?"

"The ritual has to be done under the open sky. Which means we take the gem to the roof-top and wait."

Pendrell looked out into the museum's dimness. "Well I don't suppose we'll have to wait for long."

* * *

Getting to the roof proved the easiest thing the two men had done all night. Pendrell had simply grabbed the gem, and waited. There were no lightning strikes, no mystic bolts, nothing. Within minutes Spender guided them up, through locked doors that his lockpicks dealt with quickly, and out.

The walls of mist continued to boil and froth some ten feet away from the building walls. There were no lights up on the roof at all, not even the pallid emergency lights. However, Pendrell could clearly see the entire rooftop. It seemed that the air itself here was infused with an odd, almost subliminal light. It was as if glittering St. Elmo's Fire, that you couldn't quite see directly, lighted everything on the rooftop. 

Pendrell clutched the book tightly to his side as he followed Spender out on to the roof. They were both moving slowly, more from necessity than intent. This was it, Pendrell realized; there was no place to go from here. On more shot as Jay had said. They had one chance, he hoped it was enough.

"Now what?" he asked as Spender stopped and turned back to face the roof's maintenance access door.

"Now, we wait."

Pendrell shivered in the cool air and opened the book. He pulled out the important loose pages and set the book down carefully. He reached for the penlight and realized that he could read the pages clearly, even in this dim light. He turned to Spender, who stood facing the door, shifting the egg sized gem from hand to hand, when the access door exploded outward. Well they hadn't waited long anyway.

The creature was even faster than they thought, Pendrell realized, a lot faster. It charged across the rooftop and was on them in a blink. Pendrell had hardly called out a warning when Spender was caught up in its great claws and carried away. Pendrell charged after them, the name on the archaic pages rising in his voice. The creature stopped at the first syllable, Spender dangled just above the slavering jaws.

Pendrell continued the chant, drawing some little strength from his victory, and steadying his voice. The creature wheeled around, it's huge eyes staring at him. Spender was still held aloft, just inches from death. Pendrell glanced down at the papers, catching the next line, not faltering, not hesitating, he didn't dare. He looked up, the creature was rigid, caught up is some force Pendrell couldn't begin to understand.

Spender had wiggled his way loose from one claw and was frantically kicking his feet trying to free himself from the other. With a small shout mixed with triumph and pain Spender slid free and thumped solidly to the ground. He was quickly up and running, jerkily, like a broken marionette. He stumbled to a stop beside Pendrell, nearly collapsing. Pendrell could see the glowing heart still clenched in his hand. He tried not to think about the trails of blood seeping over Spender's fingers and dripping from the stone.

Pendrell could feel something, some sort of tension, building in the air around him as he continued to chant the unfamiliar words. The creature remained where it stood, arms upraised, as if beckoning the dark boiling sky. Pendrell chanted, his voice, already hoarse from forced whispering, was beginning to crack and falter. The creature twitched.

Pendrell almost stopped in horror. He felt Spender's arm latch onto his shoulder and he raised his voice again, a little stronger, with more effort and continued the chant. He seemed to chant the archaic script for hours, repeating it, until he was able to drop the pages, close his eyes and chant without thought. The tension in the air had become a palpable thing by the time his raw-throated voice finally began to falter. 

His voice had dropped steadily as he chanted, from a shout, to spoken, to whispered, and then that too was gone. He opened his eyes when his words finally stopped. The creature moved, its long talons flexed. It dropped its arms and looked around in seeming confusion. Suddenly Pendrell knew what the manuscript had meant. The Shae D' el wasn't the gateway, it was the key.

"Throw it," he managed to whisper.

Spender sat frozen in utter confusion.

"Throw the stone," Pendrell croaked, making lobbing motions with his right arm.

Understanding suddenly lit Spender's face. He staggered to his feet as the monster came fully alive. He wound up and kicked like a badly injured big leaguer and lobbed the gem across the roof. Pendrell watched the glowing stone, praying silently to whatever Gods of whatever ethos might be listening. The stone began to glow brighter and brighter as it fell in a smooth arc toward the creature. The thing stood transfixed, in mid stride, as the now blazing light fell upon it.

Pendrell closed his eyes. What ever happened next, he didn't want to see it coming. He felt the enormous tension around them suddenly snap. It was nearly orgasmic. There was a blue flash of light that penetrated his closed eyelids. He felt Spender jerk at his side. He opened his eyes, letting the sparkles fade. Spender was laying on his back, rubbing his eyes. He sat up blinking, but apparently not blind. The creature was gone, all nine-foot of its angry teeth and claws, was gone.

Pendrell stood, gently pulling away from Spender's restraining hands, and walked to the center of the roof. The gem lay in the center of a large scorch mark, apparently unharmed but no longer glowing, no longer radiating that odd sinuous power. It was inert, a pretty hunk of cut and polished rock, nothing more. He picked up the stone and turned back to Spender. The man already looked lost and alone.

Pendrell felt a cool down draft and looked up. The walls of mist were curling away, opening like a giant iris beneath the night sky. How much time had passed? It seemed like hours to him, but somehow it didn't seem like the night had advanced at all. Had the Shae D' el warped time as well as reality? Anything seemed likely at this point.

A spark of light near the roof's edge caught Pendrell's attention. A pinpoint floating several feet above the ground began to grow brighter and expand. Within seconds it was a massive shimmering wall. Several glowing spheres ejected from the wall and coalesced into a single large globe. Pendrell could feel a power emanating from the sphere, power like the Shae D' el had, but infinitely greater. 

Abruptly he felt a thundering presence in his thoughts, a presence so overwhelming he could do nothing but fall before it as a blur of memories passed through his mind. He instantly realized what was happening. The gatekeeper was inspecting the merchandise, prior to shipping. He tried to turn back, to shout to Spender, something, anything to take away to the long years ahead, but strong invisible tendrils held him in place. 

He struggled vainly against the force pulling him forward. There was no strength left in his body and little in his spirit. He wondered if he would die, consumed by some otherworldly creature, or perhaps fall into simple idiot servitude to some great extra-dimensional being. He thought he could hear Spender yelling from far off, but all he could see was the light slowly approaching.

Suddenly a shimmer appeared in front of the glowing sphere. For a moment Pendrell was certain that it was simply an illusion induced by a fatigued and over-stimulated mind. He felt the pull on his body lessen as the shimmer resolved into a now familiar figure.

"You'll not have him," the old woman shouted. She raised her gnarled walking stick, as if warding off a blow, and stepped back. Pendrell felt the bonds on his thoughts, and actions slip a bit further.

"He is not for the likes of you." Pendrell felt the bonds fall away. He crumpled to the ground, his body was simply too fatigued to go on. He felt arms wrap around him and a familiar warmth press against him. Spender's hands clasped around his waist, as if to anchor him in place.

A deep voice answered the woman. There was great power there, but the voice was flat, uninflected, devoid of any emotion.

"I will not be denied by one such as you old woman," the voice said.

"Aye, for I am old and weak and no longer a match for an immortal," the old woman said, he voice soft, and assuring. Pendrell thought he could sense an undercurrent of deception in her words. She was avoiding a fight, to be sure, but it wasn't from fear.

"But what then Old One? Is this simple mortal cause enough to break that ancient tenet?" The old woman punctuated her words by jabbing her walking stick in the direction of the glowing sphere.

"Oh God, she's lecturing it," he heard Spender whisper.

"He is of this place, he is mine by right." The voice boomed, though less loudly.

"Is he?" the old woman suddenly demanded. "Is he, really? You have looke into his mind, you know who and what he is, you know the truth of him, all his history and what threads destiny spins for him. Shall you challenge the future of history as well Old One?"

Pendrell could feel the thing's anger. The force of its personality was so strong the very air seemed to vibrate in time with its moods. This was just about over Pendrell realized, and things didn't look good.

"In this structure, far below us there are others. Their spirits have not yet left this plane of existence. I still protect them, and have placed them beyond your reach, all of them I offer to you in exchange for the one you seek."

The sphere seemed to pulse in consideration of this idea. For a moment Pendrell was certain they were all dead, as tension again seemed to charge the night air.

"It is agreed," the voice said. Pendrell exhaled a tightly held breath. They would live, for now, though he shuddered at the thought of what their freedoms would cost.

The old women tapped her cane on the rooftop twice and swept her free hand down and then back up in a long arc. Another sphere, smaller than the first, and vastly dimmer rose through the roof and merged with the larger sphere. He could swear that as the sphere floated past he could here the wailing cries of the spirits of the doomed cadre agents inside.

He realized, of course, that it was no less than they disserved. Somehow consigning even the most wretched human souls to the gatekeeper's cold alien embrace, seemed horrific and obscene. 

After a time he felt Spender's hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him away.

"Pen" he said softly, "I think someone needs to talk to you."

Pendrell looked up into the face of the old woman. The sphere was gone and the mist had vanished like vespers in a breeze. The woman herself had grown pale and gossamer-like, almost translucent. She was smiling.

"You have done well," she said. "You have learned much, have been touched by one of the greater powers of the universe and lived, it is a rare feat."

"What do we do now, and what did you mean 'the truth of me'?"

"Do? You go on as always. You fight for what is good and truth, you follow where your heart beckons, and you keep those around you safe, as always."

"And the other thing?" Pendrell asked.

The old woman hesitated, her image growing ever more indistinct. "There is much I would explain but cannot for ancient covenants still hold sway. I will tell you this. Your truth is that you are one of the few that stands on the cusp between two worlds. It is something you must know and understand for the times ahead."

The old woman's image flickered and faded from view.

"Keep those around you safe boy," Pendrell heard her say from the empty air. "You keep them all safe." Finally even her voice was gone.

Pendrell lay back on the rooftop slowly every part, even the smallest bit, of his body seemed to hurt. Spender put one arm around him and pulled him close. Pendrell buried his face in the man's dark, tight curls and simply breathed, drawing in his scent and memorizing its smallest nuance.

Eventually he lay back and watched the night stars in quiet commiseration with the man at his side.

"What time is it?" he finally thought to ask.

Spender moved, groaning slightly from the use of now stiff and battered muscles. Pendrell could see the soft green glow from Spender's watch as he read off the time.

"9:32, that makes it about 12 minutes since this whole thing started, give or take."

Both men jumped when Spender's cellphone rang. A silly comment about Christmas Carol died on Pendrell's lips.

"Hey Mulder," Spender said with a lot more brightness than he could possibly feel.

"Yeah, doing okay. Sure, sure you too. Pen says hi."

Pendrell lay back on the rooftop and listened to the conversation. It was the quite talk of friends. No, Pendrell realized, between brothers. It was an odd thought and one that caused a sudden rush of emotion. Brothers, lovers and friends, family all of them, in spirit and deed, if not in name or fact. A family protects its own.

He felt a nudge in his ribs and turned his attention back to the man on the telephone.

"The museum?" Spender asked rhetorically. "It was interesting, definitely interesting."

Pendrell let the rest of the conversation fade out, and looked back to the stars. They had come close to death, and he had touched something so close to infinite that he couldn't tell the difference. The old woman's words still muttered at him in his thoughts. He had the distinct feeling that tonight was just the beginning of a long march toward whatever destiny awaited them all.

[END]


End file.
